


a promise

by asmintasmint



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Relationship Study, basically I just use a lot of run on sentences to ramble about their relationship I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmintasmint/pseuds/asmintasmint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi has learned to exist in the moment, unquestioning, just breathing. What he and Oikawa have is something he has never attempted to truly quantify, content with just being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a promise

**Author's Note:**

> aka my first ever Haikyuu fic, alternatively titled: how do I stop using commas, dashes and semi-colons, someone send help

Contrary to popular belief, Iwaizumi doesn’t remember exactly how he met Oikawa. He’s just always been there, a part of his life, a constant that underpins all of Iwaizumi’s childhood memories, hazy or otherwise- there’s never been a time in his life where Oikawa hasn’t simply _existed,_ beyond reach or not. Similarly, there was never a moment (that he can recall) where he and Oikawa agreed to be friends, best friends. They simply _are._

Iwaizumi has learned to exist in the moment, unquestioning, just breathing. What he and Oikawa have is something he has never attempted to truly quantify, content with just being.

(He will not admit to the long spaces in the night, as deep and quiet as a mountain gorge, his mind caught up in all the words he might attempt to use, if it wasn’t so hard to just open his mouth and-)

Iwaizumi is a being of action, of movement, and Oikawa is too- yes, he’ll use words to twist people to his whims, will raise his chin and curl his lips and bite out rounded taunts framed as kindness and praise, but underneath this facade he is a creature of motion, brought alive on the court, burning sharp and bright as he laughs in the faces of his opponents, crushing them beneath his proud heel.

(He is a creature who crashes hard, burns fast, curls in on himself and hisses at those who come near, except Iwaizumi; never Iwaizumi, who approaches him with palms wide open and voice soft and low, like taming a wild thing.)

Iwaizumi does nothing by halves. He likes, he loves; he hates, he loathes; he smiles, he laughs; he snarls, he shouts. His entire being is filled with devotion for Oikawa that would frighten him in its intensity if it wasn’t reciprocated- there is nowhere he would go that Oikawa would not follow, and neither will he leave his friend, his captain, behind. He watches as Oikawa drapes himself over his kitchen table, delicate elbows folded inwards and his cheek pillowed on his arms, eyes shut against the slant of the morning sun, gentle in its fall across his face. Not for the first time, Iwaizumi is struck by Oikawa’s unfair, almost ethereal beauty- his skin glows in the dawn, his hair spun gold in the brightness of the coming day. Iwaizumi’s chest is filled with an aching tenderness, a feeling he doubts words could adequately describe; he could be happy like this, he thinks, waking each day to Oikawa’s half-lidded gaze and sleep-soft smile, raising his head up to fix Iwaizumi with a deep brown stare that echoes the feeling rooted in his own ribcage- branches laced amongst his ribs and around his lungs, flushing into full bloom each time their gazes meet, stripped away of their usual retorts and sharp-fire comments.

_Iwa-chan,_ Oikawa says, voice soft and quiet in the shimmering silence of the morning. _Iwa-chan._

Iwaizumi could be happy with Oikawa. He knows this. He does not shy away from these feelings; acknowledges them, accepts them, continues to live as he does before. Iwaizumi doesn’t know exactly when they started to blossom inside of him- there was no eureka moment, no sudden spark of realisation; by the time he noticed it it was simply a fact of his being, central to his very core.

He has lived with this knowledge for enough time to no longer get caught up in the strong line of Oikawa’s shoulders, the slant of his perfect nose, the lift of his pouting lips- but as the end of their third year looms, Iwaizumi is filled with fear. Tracing the turn of Oikawa’s profile, attention caught by something far away, something that is nothing more than a blur through the window, Iwaizumi is struck with the sensation of endless summer days falling away from him, too much time filled with hot days and cooler nights, and at the very same moment, not enough time at all. He feels like if he were to reach for the calendar, he would find the sheaves of paper cascading out of his hands, days slipping out of his grasp, each number clocking past another day closer to the time when he and Oikawa will, inevitably, part.

He knows this for a fact. They may not have spoken about the future, but they have never been ones for words, more comfortable in the language of their bodies- the stiffness of the other’s mouth, a line drawn between the other’s brows, the quiet upturn of a bare wrist before fingers curl into a fist- and he knows their paths will branch. While he and Oikawa will always come back to each other, boats moored together against the rising tide, the ebb and flow of the sea curling around them and pressing them side by side- while he _knows_ this, as certain as he knows that night will turn over to day, that the sun will give way to rain- it isn’t enough.

Time isn’t enough.

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa is terrified of the future, knows how easy it is to claw back at the past, where things seem easier- even as he and Oikawa walk together to their morning classes, shoulders brushing and fingers indulging in barely-there touches, he already misses this. The future is wide and dark, and it’s easier to hide inside the _now_ , to laugh with his friends and sprawl out with them under the arching branches of their favoured tree- Makki idly brushing Mattsun’s blazer clean, Oikawa leaning into Iwaizumi’s personal space with eyes glittering, Mattsun turning his head to smother a laugh into the palm of his hand- but at the back of his mind, always, is the looming promise of the unknown.

Iwaizumi does not manage well with unknowns. Give him a goal, something he can aim for, can divide and destroy and conquer, and he will tear it apart piece by piece, brick by brick, leave nothing but destruction in his wake ( _My ace,_ Oikawa murmurs, pride creeping into the sibilance of his voice, _my team, my_ ace)- but if how can he overcome something that does not exist beyond the apprehension that curls inside his chest?

Oikawa laughs at him when he puts voice to his fear, the sound brittle, eyes blown too wide for Iwaizumi to be deceived for even a moment. _Silly Iwa-chan, you have nothing to worry about._

_You have nothing to worry about._

He has everything to worry about.

Oikawa has _the important things_ planned, lines crimped neat and precise in his mind- they will defeat Shiratorizawa, will crush their largest opponent, will step onto the National stage, will shatter anyone who stands against them, tall and triumphant as they hold their heads high and raise their laurel of victory aloft with pride. Beyond this, Oikawa’s plans are murky, hazy; unimportant. He exists in the moment, does not consider the future implications of his actions; he will watch the same volleyball match all night, only to regret the dark rings under his eyes in the morning; he will let his anger overwhelm him and raise his arm to strike his kouhai, only to be filled with horror once his fury has been curbed; he will stare Ushijima dead-on and promise to defeat him and _mean it,_ no room for doubt or questioning, for hesitation or uncertainty. He forgets the long nights spent inside the protection of Iwaizumi’s arms, broken hopes and dreams sobbed into the crook of his neck- for most of Oikawa’s life there has nothing but the bright promise of the future. But Iwaizumi does not forget. He remembers for them both.

(He will always remember Oikawa’s voice, small and quiet and vulnerable, asking if he was good enough, _am I good enough, why am I not good enough, Hajime?_ )

(Iwaizumi will always remember, and he will never forget, never forgive.)

(What he has with Ushijima is _personal._ )

“So,” Matsukawa says to him one day, leaning against the wall with a casual air. “When are you going to tell him?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze slides from the retreating forms of Hanamaki and Oikawa to Mattsun’s open face. Etched into the sleepy droop of his eyes is a hidden sharpness, unspoken but undeniable; sometimes it’s almost easy to forget how well his other friends can read him, using their own devices to hide it- Oikawa has his inflated, false pomposity, of course, while Makki has his deadpan expression and the apparent disinterest in his eyes; Mattsun, with his quiet, almost serious facade, is probably the most understated of them all.

“Probably sooner than you tell him,” is Iwaizumi’s only answer. Mattsun just blinks once, slow, unruffled, serene.

“That’s fair,” he says, and that is that.

The truth is, Iwaizumi curbs his tongue purely because he doesn’t feel it necessary to say something as obvious as the fact he loves Oikawa Tooru. Iwaizumi knows that there are many different types of love; for as much as Oikawa calls him dense, _a brute, Iwa-chan, you’re a brute!-_ he knows himself. He knows Oikawa, too. What they have _works._ He does not linger on possibilities for the future, mostly, does not consider crossing that quiet, tentative line between them. He is content to share the same space as Oikawa, knows they are closer than is considered normal; he lies in the dying light of another shared sunset, the line of Oikawa’s shadow blurring into his own as they curl together, never growing out of the habit of sleeping in the same bed, even years on. In the heavy tangle of limbs it’s easy to forget where one of them begins and the other ends, and what can Iwaizumi say to the familiar warmth of Oikawa’s breath curling out across his collarbones?

He almost says it, once. Oikawa is thrown across his bed, graceless, beautiful, homework scattered across the floor in a moment of petulance. Iwaizumi glances up, trails his eyes across the outstretched arm, slender fingers still thrown open from the act of throwing paper- Iwaizumi knows those hands almost as well as his own, pale, calloused, nails rounded and filed, a nick across one knuckle from a childhood tumble. He loves those hands, that wrist; raises his gaze to Oikawa’s face. The setter has turned his head and is staring back at him, eyes deep and knowing, blinking slowly, the curve of his unfairly long lashes emphasised by the movement.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, lines the words up on his tongue, pressed against his teeth, before Oikawa silences him by speaking first. _Iwa-chan,_ he murmurs, and Iwaizumi’s lips close as he waits. They both wait in the silence, drawing out further, crystallising into something Iwaizumi is almost hesitant to give a name to- but then Oikawa shatters the tranquility of the moment by rolling off the bed, throwing himself in Iwaizumi’s lap in an ungainly heap. Iwaizumi has the breath punched out of him by an errant elbow, and scowls as Oikawa turns his face upwards, eyes sharp and mouth pulled wide into a smile. _Iwa-chan_ , he sings, raising deceptively gentle hands to prod at Iwaizumi’s cheeks. _One day the wind is going to change direction and your face will get stuck like that!_

Iwaizumi ends up pinning him to the ground, ignoring the hands that scrabble at his chest as Oikawa screams with laughter, tears in his eyes as Iwaizumi targets his most ticklish areas. This is enough, Iwaizumi thinks. He doesn’t need to put words to this, Oikawa a breathless sprawl beneath him, eyes bright and mouth soft around the corners as Iwaizumi relents, hands falling still as he lets his forehead drop against Tooru’s own, their quiet breaths mingling together in the sudden silence of the room; they are burning points of life and movement in the stillness, and Iwaizumi will look to the future gladly for a day when they will eventually bridge the infinitesimal gap between their lips.

But for now, he will live in the present, will stand shoulder to shoulder with his team, with Oikawa. He will dominate the court and stand tall, will quash any fears he might have with the satisfaction of a match well-played, relish the pounding of his heart and slick of sweat across his skin; he is the ace who will not be subdued, who will fight to the very last moment for his team, his heart. (For his captain, who faces his fears with laughter on his lips and shoulders thrown back, for the man his friend has grown into; for the boy who held out a volleyball and begged his best friend to join him; for the boy who loves this sport so much he will work himself to the very bone and drain his very soul dry simply to be _good enough_.)

(Oikawa has always been more than enough, worth more than every damn player in this entire circuit put together; Iwaizumi isn’t prone to bouts of introspection or flights of fancy, but if he had to describe Oikawa Tooru- was forced to describe him with pure sincerity, his usual bearing stripped away- he would describe him as a supernova, brilliant and luminous and bright, outshining the very galaxies with his majesty.)

It will be the culmination of three years, of a lifetime, when they finally knock Ushijima off his pedestal. They have destroyed every obstacle that has come across their way so far- all that stands between them and Shiratorizawa is a murder of crows, Karasuno’s black flock circling in the distance. The rest of their own team has moved ahead, the court filled with the roar of the crowd, and for a suspended moment, Iwaizumi and Oikawa exist alone. Oikawa’s back is to him, and he stares ahead, bearing proud and tall- he turns his head, looks over his shoulder, fixes Iwaizumi with a stare that betrays nothing and everything, eagerness shining out from every fibre of his being as his lips curve upwards-

“Ready, Iwa-chan?”

And the smile on his face is a promise, a whisper of shared years to come, countless more quiet moments to be shared, touches and words and _forever_ , an ignition, a spark-

“Ready.”

Iwaizumi goes.

**Author's Note:**

> comprehensive list of things that destroy me: what kind of ace am I? ~~not a day goes by that I don't get emotional over iwaoi or Seijou g o d~~
> 
> you can find me on tumblr if you want to talk! <http://varminties.tumblr.com>


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